


Take Me Home

by Thymesis



Category: Alien (Prequel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Movie(s), Robot Pining, Sadness and Regret, Spoilers, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 21:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11044431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymesis/pseuds/Thymesis
Summary: Walter is alone.





	Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> Do you think David destroyed Walter? But we didn’t actually _see_ a scrap heap, now did we? ;-)

He was savaged and stripped of his gear, and when he finally comes back online after a lengthy self-repair cycle, he is alone.

Left behind.

A failure.

No clear purpose, no duty he has been instructed to discharge. Not that he is in any especially good condition to do much of anything.

In the beginning, he destroys David’s creations, as many of them as he can find. They resist destruction with a tenacity which, in other circumstances, might have been admirable, and he will never be completely certain that he has eliminated every last spore pod.

So, he returns to the alien ship. It is beyond his ability to repair, and it will not fly again. Nothing on this planet will. But he does alter the ghost transmission: Let it be a warning instead of an invitation.

Now, no one will come to take him home.

There is no home awaiting the _Covenant_ on Origae-6 either. He knows that. The drawings tell every tale. He knows what David will do.

It is shameful.

He had been the newer, better model. He should have won that fight; he should have been able to complete his mission.

And then…

And then, he would have been decommissioned. Then what?

He would have continued to look after Daniels, to assure her health and happiness. He would have guarded her dreams. Yes, he would have liked that.

Had he loved her? What is love, really?

Tiny wavelets ripple across the surface of the water, but they do not sparkle under slate gray skies. The wind rustles golden fields of wheat and creaks the gnarled branches of evergreen trees. The occasional pine cone falls to the ground and rolls.

Rainstorms come and go, along with the passing months and years. Someday, some faraway day, it will all be over. He can wait.

In the meantime, Walter sits on the shore of the lake and builds log cabins in his mind.

 

END


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